


the scars that bear your name

by Munchy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bleeding, Guilt, I like suffering!, M/M, Major injuries, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Relationships, Scars, To celebrate Jack's confirmed Gayness, both of these idiots should be dead, here's an angsty fic~, incoherent timeline, it's that kind of soulmate au, sharing injuries and scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 14:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Munchy/pseuds/Munchy
Summary: He's just a kid when he writes down the question in black, permanent marker.What's your name?He spends the rest of the weekend waiting for a reply, but it never comes. At first, he's bitter, letting loose a curse that he'd learned from his old man, and had his ma shove a bar of soap into his mouth moments later.___Or the soulmate au where if one soulmate marks their skin, the other also gets said marks (and when I say marks, I mean EVERYTHING).





	the scars that bear your name

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> So I've had this in my docs for a while, but it was always lacking a bit of unf to it, which is to say, it lacked consistent conflict. Until today, that is, when Chu gifted us with confirmed Gay 76, and let me tell you, nothing gets me moving like angst. HOUSTON WE HAVE CONFLICT!!!
> 
> I'm not too satisfied with the ending, but enough people really wanted to see this, so I chugged it out as best I could manage. There's no beta for this, only Grammerly. Hope ya'll enjoy!!!
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. I realize I could have gone in a much smutter direction... perhaps another time. Rn we must suffer.
> 
> EDIT: I just realized that I used the wrong form of "bare" in the title, its supposed to be "bear"... It's fixed now, but it looks like I'll never be able to show my face here again! *dives into the trashcan*

Jesse stumbles into the filthy little bathroom of the motel he’s held up in. The pain in his face — hell his entire body— burning with each beat of his pulse. He brings his hand up, eyes closed tight as another throb of pain hits him.

 

His fingers graze his face and he feels his chest expand with a sharp intake of breath before he screams. His voice is horse yet all to clear in the silence of the night. His face is wet. The kind of wet that's warm and familiar but at the same time foreign. The pain flares up in a sting so sharp he opens his eyes to his reflection in the cracked mirror.

 

Jesse is bleeding.

 

His face bares two gashes. One going from his cheek, over his nose, and ending at his forehead. Blood running over his left eye. The other slash is across his lips, bleeding sluggishly down his hollowed cheeks and into his beard.

 

His white shirt spots dark blotches in irregular patterns, getting bigger and bigger as the cotton absorbs what it can. He feels the trickle of something go down his legs, and looks to see more blood — impossibly more— pooling around his legs while more gashes and bruises form in his skin as though by some invisible force.

 

Jesse's breath stutters with the trembling of his body. He looks up into the mirror to stare at an ever-growing pale face. A voice in the back of his mind tells him to grab the first aid kit. Grab it before he bleeds out and dies like a fucking idiot.

 

But he stands there, struck by the site of so much red in his broken reflection. Tears begin to form and spill out to mix with the blood on his face. One name on the tip of his tongue, whistling it out with a stuttering breath.

 

“Jack?”

 

He collapses onto the floor.

 

* * *

 

He's just a kid when he writes down the question in black, permanent marker.

 

_What's your name?_

 

He spends the rest of the weekend waiting for a reply, but it never comes. At first, he's bitter, letting loose a curse that he'd learned from his old man, and had his ma shove a bar of soap into his mouth moments later.

 

“You gonna tell me why you said that word, Jackie?” She asks him a few minutes later as she drags the bar out and places it on the sink.

 

At first, he won't say despite the look she's giving him. He turns away to avoid the harsh gaze but it's a mistake. He sees the writing on his arm, only slightly faded despite the few days it's been there.

 

The moment he spots it, he bursts into tears.

 

His ma quicky envelopes him in her arms and coos, “Jackie what's wrong?” She cards her fingers through his hair but it does little to soothe the ache he feels in his tiny chest.

 

“They didn't write back!” He chokes out with a sob, “They hate me!” Jack waves his arm out for his ma to see.

 

She kisses his cheeks despite the tears and snot running down his face. “Shh, it's okay baby. That doesn't mean they hate you.” She grabs the washcloth sitting on the counter and begins cleaning his face, “It could mean they aren't old enough to read it, hun. You're only five.” She chuckles.

 

Jack sniffs as he glances his big, red-stained eyes at his ma. “But…” He starts.

 

“No buts, baby. One day they'll write back, you just gotta be patient.” She gives him a gentle smile.

 

Jack nods as his little body stutters in a large breath. He just had to wait.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Mein Gott!_ Jesse!” Angela cries as she descends from the heavens above to finally take Jesse to the promised land.

 

“Angie… Fucking finally,” his normal charming self deteriorates the more he bleeds out on the ground. “Be a doll and read my last rights, would ya?” He manages to croak out with a dazed smile.

 

“Jesse, shut up,” she hisses at him as she locks the beam of her staff onto him, “Echo won’t be happy about this. What happened?” she kneels down beside him and blocks out the sun for a few blissful minutes.

 

“Think one of them clipped me in the back. I didn’t even hear the fucking shot.” he coughs and catches the sight of blood in the sand.

 

“I was watching you the whole time, Jesse. There was no one at your back.” Angela says as she fiddles with her staff. The yellow beam shimmies for a moment and then Jesse feels beautifully numb all over. “Jesse, did you hear me? There was no one behind you.” Angela lays a hand on his shoulder, but he can only feel the pressure of it behind all the layers he’s wearing.

 

“I—”, Jesse’s vision suddenly has spots in them and he wants to puke, but Angela probably doesn't want to deal with that on top of the gunshot wound in his back. “I was against a wall…” he suddenly remembers.

 

“Yes, you were. So, how did you get a shotgun wound in your back? Jesse?” Angela’s voice pitches into panic and Jesse isn’t sure why.

 

Then his vision fades to black.

 

* * *

 

By the time 76 manages to duck out of sight into the relative safety of his safehouse, it’s already past 3 a.m. He’s panting against his mask and despite the filter system performing at 100%, he still can’t stop smelling that all too familiar metallic scent. He’s sweating bullets and it takes effort to actually peel himself from the wall.

 

It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Watch those Los Muertos goons cut the deal with the new Deadlock informants and wait until after the weapons were passed. Then, spring into action when their backs were turned.

 

But as he watched from the rooftops, his left arm suddenly flared up in so much pain, he nearly blew his cover. The pain was so sharp, it went to the fucking bone. It took every ounce of willpower not to careen over the edge of the building, screaming like a banshee. When he tried to stand, his vision blacked out for a moment, the pain became blinding hot. Like his flesh was searing itself off.

 

A flurry of panicked thoughts had gone through his mind then about what could be causing this. Had he been shot? No, he didn’t hear any guns go off, the weapon dealers were still in the alley. Even if that were the case, his enhanced body had been made to shrug bullet wounds off like they were bee stings. Were the SEP chemicals finally biting him in the ass, and slowly disintegrating his body? To him, that would be the worst case scenario, but probably the most likely.

 

As another lick of burning pain shot up his arm, he clutched it hard, feeling his pulse through the thick layers he wore. What the hell was happening to him?

 

He looked down finally and saw a dark stain coming through the leather of his jacket.

 

“What the fuck?” Jack growled. He left the roof soon after, making his way to the safe house as fast as possible. There would be no bust tonight.

 

Jack curses as another sharp pain flares up his arm, drawing him back to reality. He clenched his jaw and stumbled through his bunker before nearly tripping over the box of biotic fields and medical supplies. He digs his way through before pulling out a numbing agent.

 

He struggles out of his jacket for what feels like hours before it finally hits the floor. Despite his black under armor, Jack can feel the wetness of blood all the way down his arm. He manages to peel off the shirt just as another wave of pain hits him so hard he doubles over.

 

He stays like that, pressing his forehead against the floor, clenching his teeth together, and just screaming for a solid minute. He’s never felt pain like this in his entire life, not even the wounds he received from the explosion caused something as awful as this. At least then, he had the adrenaline to keep the agony away for a while. _This?_ This was fucking torture.

 

When the fire subsides to a soreness more tolerable, Jack sits back up, panting like he just ran a marathon. He can feel a sheen of sweat coat his entire body and his stomach is nauseous from how hard his body tensed up. His left arm is hanging loosely by his side, useless, but still throbbing to the beat of his old heart.

 

He takes a deep breath before grabbing the numbing agent and slathering as much of it on as he can. The redness of new skin began to appear around the edges of it, slowly working it’s magic as S.E.P intended. When he can’t even feel the pins and needles anymore, Jack digs through the medical supplies and pulls out what he needs.

 

Before long he’s managed to clean the wound enough to start stitching it up. His mind works on autopilot, too tired to really care about how he even got this damned wound in the first place. He’s just coherent enough to know that he wants the pain to stop.

 

Then, he catches the sight of Jesse’s tattoo, the skull with wings. It’s faded a bit, but the words are still as clear as the day he saw them first appear. It’s the one link to Jesse he has left, yet despite that, he’s thought about removing it several times. However, the idea is always quickly abandoned. If Jesse woke up to his tattoo gone, then he’d know Jack was still alive.

 

At first, he thought Jesse hadn’t survived the wounds Jack received during the HQ explosion, but he was surprised weeks later when he started getting cuts and bruises he didn’t remember getting. As years went by, Jack held out some semblance of hope, probably the only hope he could muster, that Jesse was still somehow breathing all this time. Then the day came when he spotted Jesse’s wanted poster, claiming him to be the world’s most wanted man with a hefty price tag. The picture was of him in Blackwatch, just before Overwatch’s collapse, but Jack felt so relieved by the news, he nearly cried.

 

He’s been careful about the cuts and bruises he’s gotten after that. Always made sure to not wound himself too much, to leave gashes in his skin for Jesse to find later on. A random bruise here or there could be explained, but not scars. He treats his body with a gentleness he never had before, because, in some way, his body is Jesse’s body, and therefore precious beyond all belief.

 

Still, that hasn’t stopped him from doing what he has to in order find out the truth.

 

Jesse on the other hand never seems to be careful. Jack bleeds almost every week from some kind of wound that opens against his pale skin. It makes him wonder what the hell Jesse was doing with his life. How he kept hurting himself this much. Was he trying to die—

 

Jack starts, freezing on the spot as his eyes travel to the stitches that circle around his upper arm, just above his elbow. His fingers tremble as he grazes the swollen flesh. The feeling is foreign against the numb limb like he’s touching someone else rather than his own arm.

 

The amount of blood, the way the jagged injury forms a complete circle, Jack could survive such a wound. His body was made to do it. But Jesse…

 

Jack feels the tears coming before he realizes it, “Oh God… Jesse, no.”

 

He doesn’t receive anymore cuts to his skin after that. Some days, he finds himself missing the bleeding.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s only five when he asks for the name of his one and only, but after several hours and bad news at the door, Jesse doesn’t really think about his soulmate much after that. When his ma dies in a ration riot, his life becomes a chaotic storm of anger issues and depression.

 

By the time he helps form Deadlock with Ashe, he figures he’d die before meeting his soulmate. No use crying about it or feeling bad. There’s no point in it.

 

That is until Blackwatch came and ruined everything for him.

 

Jesse's face fucking hurts, throbbing with his pulse and yet he can't even rub his hands to ease the bruises there. Cuffed to a chair, all he can do is squirm and glare at the man sitting across from him.

 

Gabriel Reyes, that’s what he said his name was. He just stares at Jesse, sizing him up the moment he entered the interrogation room. He hasn’t even said a fucking word yet. Just letting Jesse stew in his chair for the past five minutes with nothing to do but rub the little scar on his finger that just appeared one day.

 

If Jesse ever gets the chance, he’s pissing in this guy’s coffee.

 

After another agonizingly slow five minutes, the bastard finally speaks.

 

Gabriel slaps the metal table in front of him, and a holographic image pops up. It’s got a lot of text and Jesse’s mugshot from the time he spent at juvie, “Jesse McCree, age 18. Mother died when you were five and left you with your father. You spent some time in juvie for a misdemeanor at 12 and then ran away from home two months after you got out that same year. Formed the Deadlocks gang at 15 as one of their top gunners with Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe. That sound about right, kid?”

 

Jesse spits on the table and watches as a dribble of blood and saliva splatter across the surface with some satisfaction.

 

“I see your parents didn’t do a good job in teaching you manners, huh?” Gabriel says.

 

“Fuck you.” Jesse croaks out.

 

Gabriel just smirks.

 

They do this back and forth for what feels like hours, and for all Jesse knows, it’s probably been. Still, it floors Jesse when Reyes offers him a spot on his team. He’s not sure why Reyes would want some fucker like him, but Jesse’s pretty sure he’d rather go to prison and take his chances there. At least he can predict what Ashe will do, who knows what kind of sadist Reyes is.

 

“Look, kid—”

 

“McCree.” Jesse corrects for the 11th time.

 

“ _Kid,_ ” Reyes once again enunciates, “I’m giving you a second chance here. You’d be a fool to pass it up.”

 

“Well, call me the king of fools because I ain’t taking your deal. You don’t know shit about Deadlock or what they’re capable of. I squeal, they’ll find a way to kill me.” Jesse says, feeling like a broken record at this point.

 

“We took care of Deadlock. If they aren’t dead, then they’re in prison waiting for a trial, but they’re not gonna stay behind bars unless we have testimony against them,” Reyes argues, sliding the contract across the metal table, “You have nothing to lose here.”

 

“Like I said, you don’t know shit about Deadlock. If you think some anonymous testimony is gonna be enough to keep those cocksuckers locked up, you’re seriously underestimating how corrupt the system is. And furthermore, if you think I trust a word you say after beating the shit outa me, you must be high, asshole.” Jesse levels Reyes with a half-hearted glare. He’s so fucking tired of this. Just send him to prison for God’s sake, he’s not buying it.

 

Reyes sighs in frustration, shaking his head, “Fine, then go to prison. I felt bad for you because you’re just a kid, but it’s not like I can’t get the info from someone else.” he stands with an air of finality.

 

Jesse doesn’t really mind. He might be blowing a good chance here, but he can’t take the risk of Deadlocks putting a bounty on his head. Even if Reyes can promise protection, he’d just thrown into a different kind of prison for his own safety, because that's what Blackwatch would be for him. Just a gilded fucking cage. At least in prison, the idea of freedom wouldn’t be dangled in front of his face.

 

As he watches Reyes cross the room, Jesse suddenly has a thought. It shoots to the forefront of his mind like a bullet. He’s probably going to prison for the rest of his life. The shit he’s done? Yeah, there’s no parole in his future, even if he’s still a young face. He should probably tell the poor son of a bitch, they at least deserve to know what kind of person Jesse is.

 

“Hey,” he says, managing to catch Reye’s attention, “You got a pen?”

 

“Why? Have a change of heart?”

 

“Naw, gotta tell someone something.” Reyes gives him this weird look that almost makes Jesse laugh, but his eyes flick to his arms for a moment and sighs.

 

“Feel real fucking bad for whoever’s stuck with you.” he murmurs as he takes out his pen.

 

He walks over and places it on the table. “I’m gonna un-cuff you. You try anything kid, and I’ll make sure you go to prison with a broken arm, got it?” Jesse has no doubt that the threat is real, but he smirks anyway and nods.

 

Reyes unlocks the cuffs and Jesse rubs his wrists for a moment, feeling the circulation coming back to his fingers. He takes a moment to look at the ratty flannel covering his arms, trying to decide which one to write on. He decides on the one without the tattoo for posterity sake and rolls the sleeve up over his right arm before picking up the pen and writing across his skin.

 

Reyes looms over him as he writes, “I’m sorry?” he asks, giving Jesse a raised brow.

 

“Figured it’d be good to start with,” Jesse replies.

 

Reyes opens his mouth to speak, but can’t get a sound out before a loud bang comes from the two-way mirror. Both look up with startled looks before Jesse turns his gaze towards Reyes.

 

“Something going on?” Jesse asks in a rather deadpanned voice. God, he’s too tired for whatever shit Reyes is pulling.

 

“Quite.” Reyes gives him as a way of answering. Jesse rolls his eyes and presses the pen against his skin to start a rather vague explanation as to why he’s a piece of shit, but he doesn’t even get to move the pen as a series of loud bangs comes from the door, startling him.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Reyes growls as he goes to the door and unlatches it.

 

It swings open to reveal a familiar looking blonde man decked in bright blue. Jesse’s sworn he’s seen his face before, he can’t quite place it. Maybe because it’s set in such panic as the guy practically pushes Reyes aside, or perhaps it’s the black eye that's throwing him off. Either way, the guy quickly makes a beeline for Jesse. He manages to lean back as far as the chair allows him before the man stops in front of him, giving him a wide-eyed stare.

 

“Jack, what the fuck?!” Reyes yells. Jack for his part, doesn’t even acknowledge him, just keeps staring at Jesse like he’s one of the eight wonders of the fucking world.

 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost…” Jesse mumbles, trying to slink out of his chair and away.

 

Suddenly Jack’s eyes focus on his arm like lasers, frantically reading the words on Jesse’s skin. It startles Jesse enough to move his hand over the writing and shoot a glare at the man towering over him.

 

Reyes finally moves and grabs Jack’s shoulder’s but Jack shrugs him off and begins frantically taking off his right metal gauntlet. Jesse watches him while his nerves only get more and more frayed. What did this guy want?

 

Then, Jack finally peels the metal away and rolls up his sleeve, and there, under the bruising ring around his wrist, in Jesse’s handwriting, is a message on pale skin.

 

_I’m sorry._

 

“What the fuck.” Is the first thing that tumbles out of Jesse’s mouth. It shakes with the rest of his body as he stares at the writing on Jack’s arm. “You—”, Jesse can’t form the words his brain is telling him to say. He’s fucking gobsmacked.

 

Then, as though Jesse somehow needs more proof, Jack removes the other gauntlet and rolls up his sleeve to reveal an all too familiar skull tattoo. Jack looks at him with pleading eyes, wide as god damn saucers. Jesse shakingly reaches for his other sleeve and reveals the Deadlocks insignia he got inked into his left arm when he was 14.

 

“Jesus fuck…” Jesse can feel himself trembling.

 

“What in God’s name— Holy shit.” he can hear Reyes say next to him, but he’s too distracted to really understand the words. “Jack, what the hell is going on?”

 

* * *

 

 

Jack wakes in the middle of the night to burning pain in his left arm. He sits up from his desk, drool still connecting him to the touch screen that makes up the top portion, and he hisses as the burning gives way to numbness.

 

“What the hell?” Jack brings up his arm and blinks the sleep out of his eyes.

 

He sees thick, black lines slowly from across his forearm. At first, he can’t make out what it’s supposed to be, but as the hour keeps ticking away, the mass of lines suddenly reveal a picture, and Jack realizes that he’s been looking at it upside down.

 

It’s a skull, with an eyepatch over the left side and chain links crossing behind it. Wings spread out on both sides, and a set of banners frame the top and bottom. It takes him a moment to read the writing as he goes, but the words are clear.

 

“Deadlock established 1976… Rebels.” Jack stares at the tattoo for God knows how long before he sighs and pinches his brow. Something like this was bound to happen, wasn’t it?

 

How old was his soulmate now? He can only guess since he’s never actually bothered to write anything to them directly for eight years. All he’s given and gotten in return was a few scars here and there. But he made that decision, didn’t he?

 

Jack looks at the picture of himself and Vincent just after Jack got out of the S.E.P program. A litany of voices pops into his head, all the same. Old, painful memories of things long since gone. He reaches for it and trails his fingers against the wooden frame, traces Vincents face with his gaze until he reaches the man’s eyes. He looks so happy there, unaware that within a few years time, Jack would only succeed in making that face look sadder and sadder.

 

He’s reminded of the tattoo on his arm when his hand twitches from a painful throb.

 

His soulmate…

 

Jack flips the photo down, too ashamed of himself to look at the man he still loves.

 

His soulmate deserved better, far better than Jack Morrison. Far better than being the soulmate of a man that was still in love with someone else. Far better than the thought of him constantly in danger, worrying if he’ll ever come back. They didn’t deserve the press hounding them at every turn and Vincent’s name being rubbed in their face constantly (because no matter how much he tried he couldn’t protect Vincent from the press getting ahold of his name). He couldn’t bear to see it happen with Vincent, it was the reason for their inevitable break-up. Jack wouldn’t let anyone go through that, to suffer that fear and humiliation.

 

Still…

 

Maybe he’ll ask Gabe to look into these Deadlock Rebels. Just… Just to make sure.

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse can’t seem to get a break today. The mission in South America went bad pretty quickly, resulting in his team having to go on a manhunt in three different counties, only to have to get evaced when the target managed to convince a drug lord to help him. When they made it back to the Brazilian HQ, Jesse got an earful from Reyes. Throughout the lecture, Jesse just clenched his fist and took whatever Reyes said. Despite the fact he was covered in blood, mud, and gunpowder, all he could do was a nod and say, “Yes, Sir.”

 

He nearly broke the holoscreen when Reyes’ face blipped out, disconnecting the call. He was a little proud of himself that he’d only managed to throw his chair against the wall of the conference room instead, only collateral being a scuff on the wall and a bent chair leg. Still, it didn’t relieve the tension in his body at all. Just made it worse actually. The rigidity in his limbs growing worse the longer it took to get back to the Swiss HQ.

 

He lost two agents in that ambush, both new guys fresh from the training grounds. Jesse could barely remember their first names, but he could clearly see their bright, wide eyes when they had first entered the Blackwatch facilities in Switzerland. They weren’t that much younger than him, to be honest, but Jesse felt responsible for their lives regardless. He was their superior and he let them down.

 

The moment Jesse touches base, he feels the need to punch the wall next to his door when he finally manages to get there. He wants to feel his knuckles break against the sleek metal in retaliation for his failure to properly read the situation. He should have pulled back the moment he smelled trouble. Instead, Jesse grits his teeth, hoping that a few hours in the gym would ease the tension in him and clear his troubled mind.

 

When he punches the door code for his dorm and steps inside, he's greeted by a bright blue jacket hanging on his coat rack.

 

“Jack?”

 

“In here, Jesse.”

 

Jesse walks into his living room to find Jack sitting at his couch, a bottle of bourbon on the coffee table in front of him. Jack looks over at him as Jesse walks around the sofa to sit.

 

He's sporting a bruise on his left temple and a split lip.

 

Jesse reaches up to finger the cut on his own lip. “Sorry,” he says rather sheepishly before sitting down.

 

“It’s fine, I expect it at this point.” Jack waves him off before pouring the bourbon into a tumbler and handing it to Jesse.  

 

“That doesn’t make it okay, Jack.” Jesse takes the offered glass before taking a slow sip. It burns in all the right ways, helping to relieve some of his tension.

 

Jack leans back and turns his gaze back forward. It’s then that Jesse notices that the television is on, muted, and showing his most recent failure.

 

Jesse can feel his grip on the tumbler tighten so hard, he thinks it might break. “Jack, I don’t want to watch this.” he tries to level his voice, but it comes out more threatening than casual.

 

“Hey, look at me,” Jesse turns in time to see Jack reach for his face, fingers grazing the cut on his lip. “I’ve been there. I know what it feels like to make a bad call,” Jack begins to say, “But you did what you thought was best.”

 

“Two of my agents lost their lives Jack, because I was being stupid.” Jesse can feel his teeth grind together. 

 

He cups Jesse’s face with a gentleness that he doesn’t think he deserves, “And I’ve lost hundreds for the same reason. All we can do is learn from it and move forward or let it consume us until we lose everything.”

 

“Jack—” Jesse begins to protest. He can feel the stinging in his eyes that tells of frustrated tears about to fall.

 

“Jesse, I love you,” he says as he leans closer and presses their foreheads together like Jesse might fall apart if he doesn’t.

 

Jesse’s waited so long for Jack to say those words to him, years in fact. He should feel elated like he's flying through the clouds and nothing in the world would ever hurt him again. Like how he always imagined he would feel when this moment came.

 

So why can’t he believe those words at all?

 

He thinks of the picture in Jack’s office, of the beautiful man with the warmest smile staring at Jack every day. He thinks of the fond, beautiful smile that grows on Jac’s face when he glances at that photo when he thinks no one’s looking. He thinks about how Jack doesn’t have one of him on that desk, or on that wall, or even on the holo displays.

 

He feels himself tremble, shatter. Then he realizes that the shattering was actually the tumbler in his hand. Jack’s standing hands moving to grab Jesse’s own to check them. A concerned knit to his brow that makes Jesse feel sick.

 

Jesse stands before Jack can even touch him, and makes a beeline for the door. Jack, of course, follows with a voice laced in worry, “Jesse wait!”

 

“You wanna say that shit to me _now?_ ” Jesse lets the anger and self-deprecation take hold and directs it Jack's way like a bullet, turning around suddenly and watching with some satisfaction when Jack flinches. “After what happened out there, you think that's gonna somehow make me feel better?” he turns back towards the door and reaches for it, but Jack's suddenly behind him, turning him back around. He takes hold of Jesse’s face, cupping it with care. Jesse looks up to find Jack staring at him intently. He’s never seen such a determined look before, but Jack's piercing eyes don't waver.

 

“I was _scared,_ ” Jack suddenly admits, his voice quivering at the end, “The moment I felt a pain on my right side, I almost bolted out of my office and suited up. I was so fucking scared something happened to you, Jesse.” Jack bows his head and Jesse hears the tremble in Jack's voice. It tears him apart inside.

 

“Jack, I—”

 

“I know this might seem like the worst time for it, but the idea of losing you, I couldn't bear it. My world would have ended.” Jack looks back up and Jesse finds so much vulnerability there behind his glazed eyes and tears. He wants to cry himself, “I love you.”

 

The ache in Jesse’s chest, his throat. He doesn’t know what to do. Vincent’s kind eyes flash into his mind. He can’t let it go, and neither can Jack.

 

It’s in that moment that Jesse realizes that he’s the one with the problem. It’s not Jack, it’s not the ghost of Vincent’s face. It’s all on Jesse.

 

Jesse shakes his head, feels himself deflate, let go. He can feel the tears falling from his eyes.

Jack will always love Vincent, a truth that will never go away. Jesse needs to accept that to move on, they can’t work otherwise, Jesse won’t allow it. He refuses to be that person to make their lover let something so precious go, just for them. It’s not right. Jack doesn’t deserve that.

 

He gently takes Jack’s hands between his own and slowly moves them away. He doesn’t have the courage to look Jack in the eye, to see the devastation he’s caused there. Instead, he keeps his head down, watches his tears fall to the floor. He turns and leaves, a new goal for himself but also new wounds to heal.

 

He can only hope that Jack will forgive him for this one day.

 

* * *

 

 

He writes little notes, leaves doodles all over his arms for days and weeks, but still no reply. By the time he's in high school, he gives up. Not everyone has a soulmate, and he accepts that he's probably part of that small group of people.

 

He goes on like that for years, meeting Vincent and falling for a man that has writing all over his arm, but he doesn’t care, and neither does Vincent. They go through the hardships of love and life and SEP.

 

Until Jack’s 22 and about to take on the last omnium with the rest of his fellow soldiers. He waits for Gabe's voice to ring in his ear, crouched behind the rubble of a building. The small — possibly the last—  Bastion units guarding the entrance to the supercomputer that still held its grip on the omnic population.

 

He's wound tight like a spring, chemically pumped body set to take him the extra mile he needs. Whatever it takes to save the world, to go back home to Vincent and start his life, he's ready.

 

That's when he feels it.

 

The moving pressure of a pen to skin.

 

He nearly drops his gun and blows his cover, but he manages to wrench the sleeve of his shirt over his arm and watches the tiny words slowly appear on his arm in clumsy hand-writing with a backward R.

 

_What's your name?_

 

Jack trembles as his vision clouds with tears. He can't help the bark of laughter that bubbles out of him. He's so out of it, he doesn't even hear Ana hiss at him on the line.

 

“Jack, quite! What are you doing?”

 

Jack shakes his head and wipes his eyes with a dirty palm. “I got a reply,” he says with a crack in his voice that edges on hysterical, as though all the sudden pain and fear for the future will bleed out of that shrill sound. “I finally got a reply.” he doesn't hold back the bitterness in the words. This can't be right. Why now? When he's 22, and deeply in love with someone else. How can this be possible after all those years without a single reply?

 

The backward R stings like a brand when it finally hits him. Only a child would have that kind of handwriting. Only a little child would make the clumsy mistake of writing a letter backward. His blood goes cold and body numb, like a corpse.

 

“What the hell is going on, Morrison? I need to finally write a section-8 for you?” Gabriel barks in his ear.

 

Jack's body trembles as he clutches his rifle close. He can't let this get to him now. He needs to focus. The fate of the world rests on his and his team's shoulders, he can't get distracted now. He'll deal with this later. Then he can wipe the tears from his eyes and go home to Vincent.

 

“No, sir,” Jack says after a deep breath. Yes, he'll deal with it later, when the world isn't in danger and he can finally breathe.

 

“Good, now when I give the signal, you give me some covering fire. Got it?”

 

“Got it,” Jack says, looking back out.

 

“Alright. Three, two, one… GO!”

 

Jack stands and shoots. He doesn't go back to worrying about the writing on his arm, because by the time Overwatch has saved the world, the writing is gone.

 

* * *

 

 

The moment Echo floats her way into the gym, all goes quiet. Jesse notices immediately but chooses to ignore the stares of his fellow agents as she gracefully glides over to him. He continues to disregard her even when she calls his name, keeping his focus on the punching bag in front of him.

 

The moment she lays a hand on him though, he jerks to a stop and whirls on her with all the pent-up frustration that’s been building up since yesterday.

 

“What, Echo!” he growls. The gym suddenly clears out, many of the patrons fleeing, while a few scattered, knowing that the following conversation is not for their ears.

 

Echo, ever patient and gentle, levels a steady gaze at him, “He cares about you.”

 

It’s the wrong thing to say, and he lets the words feed the fire that rages in his heart.

 

He has just enough sense to turn away from her before grabbing the weights next to him and throwing them into the wall-length mirrors with a roar. The shattering glass tumbling down in an avalanche of sound that rivals the pulsing in his ears.

 

As the last flecks of mirror trickle into the pile on the floor, Jesse stands very still. Body taught and breathing hard. He knows that his knuckles must be white by now, but he doesn’t care. He’d rather focus on the pain of his nails digging into his palms.

 

He doesn’t want Echo to see his face, see the sorrow that shapes his eyes, the depressed crease of his mouth. Instead, he swallows the pain past the pinprick hole that is his throat and laughs.

 

It’s a hollow sound. A sound that reflects his place of birth. A vast sea of death and dust, “That picture he keeps on his desk says otherwise.” he can’t recognize the timbre of his own voice. God, he wishes he could just get swallowed by the ground he’s standing on.

 

He feels the soft caress down his shoulder, one full of care and love, yet it’s not the kind he wants. Not the kind he so desperately needs. The thought of never ridding himself of that hole inside him that yearns every day for a set of hands to touch him with such gentleness breaks him. Shatters what remaining walls he has left. He looks at his arm, at the bruised knuckles and wonders if Jack can feel his sorrow through them. And if he does, does he even care?

 

“He’ll never want me,” his voice cracks, the truth hurting more than any bullet wound he’s ever endured, “I’ll never be good enough, no matter what. I’ll never be—” he chokes, his mouth refusing to say the name.  

 

_I’ll never be Vincent._

 

In the end, it takes so little effort for Echo to turn him around, to completely break down every barrier he has and peel back all the layers to reveal every insecurity he’s ever had. All the things he’s wanted since he was a child but can never have. He curses Echo for being able to do this to him with just a simple touch, but it’s why he loves her. She’s the only one that can see him like this because she’s the only one that won’t say anything. Won’t use pretty words to try and make him feel better.

 

She just holds him instead. Let’s Jesse falls into her embrace and then to the floor with tears in his eyes and a sob at his lips. She keeps holding onto him as he cries into her chasse, petting his hair and making quiet shushing sounds. They stay like that for hours until Athena tells them that Commander Reyes is there, looking for McCree.

 

Jesse picks himself up and gently helps Echo to her feet with trembling hands and a red-stained face. They don’t say a word and exit, the sound of crunching glass echoing off the walls just as the door closes behind them.

 

* * *

 

 

Ana makes things easier, she always has. As she stands there talking to Winston, about their plans, about what they had been doing, and what they found out, Jack is grateful for her professional quality. She knows how to get things done without any of the bullshit getting in the way. All he was good for was running and getting himself hurt. While she was a stone pillar in the mists of a sandstorm, he was reckless abandon, the wind whipping at her sides. She did things he could never. Like managing to reconcile with Fareeha, even though it took years.  

 

Him though? He can’t do that anymore. The idea of being some kind of leader, of taking charge. It’s too much for him.

 

He listens to Ana and Winston talk and talk, Lena chiming in every once in a while. Jack doesn’t have anything of value to contribute, not without revealing who he is — his voice hasn’t changed all that much—. He’s not ready to jump back into being Jack Morrison. He knows that he has to soon, far sooner than he’d like, but just… not now. So he remains quiet, attentive.

 

He catches some movement outside the massive windows of Winston’s office. A group of people is circled together, while some stand on the large catwalk over the road. He can recognize a few of the people, like Genji jumping down from the catwalk, and Angela who looks like she’s fussing over everyone on the ground. Echo is even there, floating about as she curiously analyses what’s above with precision only an omnic would have. Other’s he has a hard time figuring it out. Too many new, young faces that he can't hope to recognize.

 

A woman on the catwalk, with dark skin and long black hair, moves her arms. Blue light appears in front of her like stars and some kind of blue oval appears. It must be the ex-Vishkar girl that Lena mentioned earlier, Satya, testing out some new hard-light tech.

 

Another blue oval appears on the ground next to the group of people. From his vantage point, Jack can see everyone hesitate for a moment, and Satya looking rather annoyed. It almost makes him chuckle with fondness. When was the last time he got to see these kinds of shenanigans? Years maybe?

 

No one dares to move, and Jack is tempted to focus back on to the very important conversation going on behind him until a figure in red walks away from the group and up to the oval before… disappearing?

 

In a spark of blue light, the figure appears onto the catwalk next to Satya, waving down at the group below. Jack sees a cowboy hat and a metal arm clearly now.

 

He presses against the glass suddenly, fingers trying their best to dig into the surface and shatter it. To open a way for him to confirm what he’s seeing. The figure hasn’t changed all that much, still as tall and as broad as before, but he has longer hair, shaggier than it used to be, and a fuller beard. The red serape was new, but it fits him so well, and Jack’s suddenly reminded of the little red bandana that once circled that neck.

 

The figure looks up at the window, as though by some stroke of fate, laughing brightly at the crowd below. And Jack sees his face for the first time in seven years.

 

It's older than when he's last seen it, more wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, but the shape is still the same. High cheekbones that narrow the face, eyes that droop at the outer corners, and a playful smirk gracing his lips. Despite the years, he’s still as handsome as ever, maybe even more than before.

 

Yet all these features pale in comparison to the first thing Jack takes notice to as the man turns his way. Two scars — identical to his own— marring his beautiful face.

 

“Jesse?” He whispers, and the silence that suddenly descends around him is deafening.

 

* * *

 

 

Winston told him to check near the launch area for the schematics he was after. Jesse didn’t quite understand why he'd leave them all the way at the launch pad, but Winston had always been a little scatterbrained from time to time.

 

Once he descends the staircase, he's greeted by the dim lights around the large conference table. It’s a familiar sight, one Jesse would rather forget. Dignitaries constantly screaming at Gabe and Jesse those last few years before Overwatch fell were not fond memories, to say the least.

 

The large board that lights up a world map is the only real source of reliable light in the room, and it’s enough to spot the schematics Winston is after. He casually strolls over intended to grab the files and leave, not even bothering to ask Athena to illuminate the room. As he reaches out with his robotic arm, someone snatches it out of the shadows.

 

Jesse whirls around, six-shooter already out of its holster and taking aim. The flash of red light from a familiar visor is the only thing that stops him.

 

“Christ, 76, I almost killed you,” Jesse says with relief. He holsters his gun before noticing that 76 hasn’t let go of his arm yet.

 

76 is a strange man, to say the least. Ever since he arrived about two weeks ago, he’s been nothing but helpful to the group. His tactical prowess even rivaling Jesse’s own at times. However, none of that accounts for his off-putting demeanor. He never really talks, Ana does most of it for him, but when he does, the mechanical tone of his visor distorts it to a disturbing quality. He always seems to be watching everyone and everything whenever he walks into a room like he expects something terrible to happen. Furthermore, his attitude towards everyone is rather blunt, cruel at times even.

 

Normally Jesse would be fine with that. Hell, he had dealt with something similar when it came to Reyes. In fact, at first, he had been curious himself about the man, especially that scar that peaked out from his mask. It made Jesse rub his own scars in a way that felt like he needed to scratch an itch. But what eventually got to Jesse, and what made him a little warrier, was the way 76 stared at him. Like he’d hone in on Jesse whenever he came within sight. Jesse could always tell 76 was in a room by the shiver that went up his spine. It unnerved him.

 

Now though, with 76’s grip steadily growing tighter, this was a bit much. Jesse snatched his arm back with a jerk of his arm. If it had been made of flesh and bone, Jesse suspects that he wouldn’t have been able to break his grip.

 

Despite Jesse’s obvious discomfort, 76 still hadn’t said a word yet. Jesse refused to act as though his behavior was affecting him, though. Jesse continued to hold his ground and glower at the man before him.

 

“Athena?” Jesse suddenly said.

 

“Yes, McCree?” Athena’s voice cooly rang out through the conference room.

 

“Turn on the lights, will ya?”

 

“Of course.” The lights slowly came on, giving the room a softer, warmer hue than before. The red light from 76’s visor seemed to dim as well as the man continued to stand there.  

 

76 looked… well, it was hard to tell his state because of how covered up he was, but the man looked haggard to Jesse. Like he had been up all night stressing about something or another. His posture was tense and his white hair looks greasy. If Jesse didn’t feel so uneasy by the way 76 just stared at him, he’d tell the guy to relax and take the day off.

 

“Look, 76, not that this isn’t a fascinating conversation and all, but I really gotta get these schematics to Winston. So if you’ll excuse me—”

 

“He already has those schematics on his computer back in his lab.” 76 suddenly says.

 

Jesse starts, “What?”

 

76 finally looks away and paces towards the table, “He lied about needed them so we could have a private place to talk.” Jesse blinks, his poker-face falling like a ton of bricks. The shock quickly turns to annoyance as 76 stands facing away from him, in parade rest no less. Like he’s some kind of commander in an army talking to a subordinate.

 

“Excuse me? What exactly do you have to say to me that can’t be said outside this room?” Jesse walks up to him, his spurs echoing against the walls of the conference room.

76 remains silent for a few moments, furthering Jesse agitation, “If you went through all the trouble, just say it.”

 

“I’m sorry,” 76 says as he turns around.

 

Jesse’s brows shoot up, blinking at the man with wide, confused eyes.

 

There’s a pregnant pause before 76 continues, “Echo suggested I start with that.”

 

“Echo? What the Hell—”

 

Suddenly 76 is reaching for his mask before Jesse can finish. There’s a quiet hiss and click and the visor is gone, only to be replaced by an all too familiar face.

 

It’s much older now, the youth sapped from it long ago. Wrinkled lines stretch across his face, making his cheeks and eyes sag. His cheeks are also slightly hollow like he hadn’t been eating for a while. Two big, pink scars cut across pale skin, marring handsome features. Yet his eyes are as blue as the day Jesse had met him.

 

“Jack…” Jesse whispers.

 

“Hello, Jess,” Jack says, voice rich and deep, but now has a growl to it that wasn’t really present before. There’s a smile on his face, but the warmth is gone from it. Replaced with something self-mocking. “I know this is a shock to you, and you probably hate me but—”

 

Jesse steps into his space before he even realizes it and gently grazes his fingers across the pink raised flesh of Jack’s scars. Jack flinches hard, not used to having anyone touch him like that in a while, but Jesse can’t contain his awestruck expression as he stares at Jack’s face. There’s another pause between them, the gravity of the situation finally hitting them. Jesse tries to touch him again, and Jack lets him.

 

Metal fingers trace his scars, the cold metal is stark against his warm skin. Jack watches Jesse’s face morph into concern, eyes glazing over as he flicks his gaze downwards. Eventually, Jack stares at Jesse’s metal arm. It reaches to his elbow. Blue accents contrasting against the warmth of Jesse’s everything. It’s jarring.

 

Suddenly Jesse steps closer, tugging at Jack’s jacket with purpose. Jack lets him, unsure of what’s going on. He manages to bite back some instinctual part of him that wants to shove Jesse away, protect himself. Instead, he watches as Jesse throws the jacket onto the ground and pull up the sleeve of his left shirt.

 

Tears fall from Jesse’s eyes as he looks at the circular scar wrapped around Jack’s upper arm. It’s ugly and jagged, but Jesse rubs his hand across it. Jack leans forward, watching the realization in Jesse’s eyes form. Jack raises his now uncovered arm and presses his hand against the small of Jesse’s back, against the spot where Gabriel shot him months ago.

 

“I thought you died,” Jack says. He cups Jesse’s face with his other hand and traces the scar running over Jesse’s lips. The lines of his face become blurrier the longer Jack keeps looking.

 

“I thought _you_ died,” Jesse says, voice trembling. The grip on Jack’s arm tightens.

 

“I’m —” Jack begins, an apology on his lips, but Jesse’s suddenly gripping onto him as though his life depended on it.

 

“I thought you _died_ , and… I— ,” he whispers, tone going watery like he wants to say something but can’t.

 

“What?” Jack manages to get Jesse to look at him. Jesse looks like he might collapse, break into a thousand pieces. The fragility Jack finds there is the same kind that Jack is feeling himself in that very moment.

 

“I love you,” Jesse says after a beat like it’s the last secret he has to share, “I love you.”

 

Jack cradles Jesse face then, brings them together, and feels the matching set of scars graze against each other as they kiss. It’s the start of something new, and maybe it’s a bit fragile, but it’s something long overdue.

 

“I love you too,” he says.


End file.
